Wandless Magic
by romani-princess
Summary: Hermione's just sitting and thinking about a certain boy.
1. Part I

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and associated characters and events do not belong to me. They belong to the marvellously talented JK Rowling (published under Bloomsbury Press). They are being used solely for entertainment purposes and no money is being made from this work (trust me on this one). No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Blame this renewed interest in the wonders of THE ship on the PoA trailers (and the hype around said trailers). Honestly, the wait is driving me absolutely bananas and I'm at a complete loss as to what to do with myself for the next couple of months. Any ideas?

**Wandless Magic**

Chapter One

Talented doesn't even describe the man.

He can do things most people have only dreamed of. Those eyes can turn my knees to jelly (and once sent me flying into a very amused Ginny). That messy dark hair falling over his eyes can make my heart pound (yes, the hair). Those dimples are enough to make me forget that Neville's just turned into an oversized bunny rabbit – Dean had just offered him a Bunny Bomb, the newest confection to come out of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes – right beside me.

Even his bloody glasses make me want to – well, I'm not going to go into detail about what I'd really like to do, but I'm relatively sure you get the picture.

One smile and suddenly nobody else will do …

Yes, it's actually gotten to the point where I'm afraid I'll probably burst into joyous song the next time he so much as looks my way. Quite disconcerting really.

He should be doing his homework right now, but he's not. He's teaching Ron the finer points of poker. In about an hour they'll be at my feet begging for the notes from today's History of Magic class. While they've actually taken to listening to Professor Binns (between snoozes, I understand) and are actually know to take notes – about half a scroll per lesson (together), they still rely on me for the more in-depth stuff. Well, it's certainly become in-depth.

The parchment has really been piling up over the last couple of weeks. Revision, essays, surprise quizzes – the teachers have been less than sensible about the entire matter. Luckily I had my revision schedule – and seeing as they're boys and somewhat disorganised, Harry's and Ron's schedules as well – roughly planned out two weeks into the last holidays. I like to be prepared for all eventualities.

When I handed them to the boys at the beginning of term, Ron happily informed me that I have serious problems.

He's one to cast stones. He's dating Lavender Brown. And if that's not a serious problem then I don't know what is.

But Harry just took the parchment and tucked it into his bag, an amused smile on his face. It was at about this point that I felt my pulse race and my knees weaken. Two point five seconds after he'd turned back to his discussion with Ron (the pros and cons of the newest racing broom on the market) I couldn't help but wonder exactly why my pulse was racing and why my knees were weak. About three point seven seconds after that I let out a dismal sigh, thus drawing the attention of several Ravenclaws who happened to be in the hallway at the time.

Logic is overrated. You can't dispute with logic. So if logically you come to the conclusion that you have a crush on one of your best friends, there's really no denying it or getting around it.

I always knew my brain would one day get me into trouble.

A crush on my best friend is clichéd enough, but a crush on the world famous Boy Who Lived? And here I thought my life couldn't get any more complicated.

It had taken me a while to get used to the idea. Admittedly, said idea had been flitting around for a while – since fifth year if I'm honest, fourth year if I'm really honest – but there had been so much happening at the time that it was always pushed to the back of my mind. How can one concentrate on one's love life when the most evil of evil wizards is out for blood – any blood, wizard or Muggle – and is looking to kill one of your best friends? Although the Harry situation involved an awful lot of prioritising, it doesn't mean that I didn't get some romance in my life.

Well, if you call my relationship with Ron romantic. Or a relationship for that matter.

I'd been aware of his little crush on me since the fourth year. It wasn't that difficult to ascertain. Ron's not exactly the most subtle of individuals.

It lasted about a week before we decided that we couldn't handle it. It was just too strange. Over a period of three days, our incessant arguing had totally dissipated. We spent that entire week on our best behaviour. By the end, Harry was ready to book us both into St Mungo's for some serious psychiatric help. He said that the silence was unnatural. I believe his exact words were something along the lines of, "This is just too bloody weird. Would you two just yell at each other for two seconds, please?"

After a long and convoluted discussion, Ron and I came to the conclusion that we enjoyed our verbal spats too much to give them up and that we'd probably be better as friends. A week after that he asked Lavender to Hogsmead. I wasn't sure whether to be pleased or insulted. It's kinda disheartening to know that you've been forgotten so easily. The least he could have done would be to pine away for me for a little while longer. But alas, that just wasn't to be.

And that was pretty much the end of my experimentations into the world of adolescent relationships. There really wasn't anyone in particular that caught my eye anyway – aside from Harry, but I didn't figure that one out for at least another six months. Besides, I was too intent on my studies. Hey, in my defence, I got fabulous results. Even in Potions. I can only imagine how difficult that must have been for Snape.

Speaking of Snape, I must read through that Potions essay.

Ah, later. Harry looks too adorable at the moment. He's just roped Neville, Dean, and Lavender into the poker game and is smiling widely.

It's so rare to see Harry smile these days. With the ever-growing threat of Voldemort hanging over everyone's head, he's still got quite a lot on his agenda. He's probably got a to do list somewhere – teach Ron poker, finish Potions essay, win Quidditch cup, vanquish Dark Lord, fix glasses …

It's been rather quiet lately. No sign of Voldemort anywhere actually, nor the Death Eaters. The Dementors have disappeared too. But we all know it's a matter of time before the real battle begins. The one that'll end it all. There's been so much death, so much heartache, and we're all tired. Even the Muggle world is being affected. Who would have thought that we'd end up reliving the horrors of the past? It's a lot to take in and sometimes it feels so surreal. Then we remember the ones who are gone and the reality hits you like a blow.

I send a discreet sideways glance toward the fireplace. Several sixth years, including Ginny, have joined in the game. There's a sparkle in his eyes as he drops his cards down on the table. He turns suddenly and catches my eye. He grins.

I'm three seconds away from passing out from the delight of it all.

Maybe Ron's right. Maybe I do have problems.

Serious problems, really.

It's that grin. That grin that always makes my insides melt. That grin that makes my pulse race. That grin that makes my heart pound. That grin that always reassures me that everything will be alright, that in the end we'll win because we have to, because it's our destiny.

It's that grin that always brings me back.

That magical smile that lights up even the darkest night.

Oh yes, he's got talent. I know he's got power he hasn't even tapped yet. I know he'll be the greatest wizard of our time.

In many ways, he already is.

He's been through so much.

But he's still Harry.

He's magical in every sense of the word.

tbc …


	2. Part II

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and associated characters and events do not belong to me. They belong to the marvellously talented JK Rowling (published under Bloomsbury Press). They are being used solely for entertainment purposes and no money is being made from this work (trust me on this one). No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Right, I've decided to continue this. Nothing large, just three chapters.

**Wandless**** Magic**

Chapter Two

He's done it again.

When he looks at me with those brilliant green eyes, widened slightly behind those ridiculously attractive glasses, I can't say no. Even if it is to a game of poker.

"Oh, alright."

Goodbye well-earned money. Well, I can't say that it is that particularly well earned. Kirsten, mum and dad's receptionist, had taken an extended vacation last year, and they'd offered me a temporary position. While being a receptionist isn't overly taxing, you do come across the occasional odd person. Mum and dad seemed to attract them by the dozens. Perhaps it's a dentist thing.

Anyway, strange people with dental problems aside, Harry is exceptionally good at poker. Despite his boyish qualities, he can keep a perfectly straight face most of the time.

Then again, is there anything he isn't good at?

Oh, he's certainly not perfect. Even in my current state I can still see his faults. That indeterminable streak of pride being one of them.

Would it kill him to ask for help every once in a while? Honestly.

"Hermione? Are you in?" Ron is peering at me across the top of his cards.

Oops. Got a little sidetracked, didn't I?

"Call," I say as I drop a couple of Knuts on the table. Alright, so we're not playing for particularly high stakes here, but that's really not the point. I look up at Harry and he raises an eyebrow. I can feel the flush creeping up my neck. I bury my face back into my cards. And what a dismal hand it is. I have one of a kind five times over. If I lose – I'll rephrase that: when I lose – I'm certainly blaming it on Harry. Although I don't think I'll mention why.

The next time around, I remember to fold.

That leaves me with time to just let my mind wander. Like it hasn't been wandering enough today. I can only hope that my situation improves by the time the NEWTs come around, or I'll be a complete basket case. I do have a reputation to uphold, after all.

It's been three minutes and only Harry and Ginny are left. From the air of excitement, I gather that the stakes are the highest they've been all evening – one whole Sickle and fifteen Knuts. The spectators are all holding their breath. Harry and Ginny are eyeing each other across the table.

A few years ago I would have been worried about this blatant display. But now I know better (especially since Ginny is happily dating a rather cute Hufflepuff by the name of Jason Carmichael) and think little of it. He doesn't think of her that way, she's just Ron's little sister.

Still, does he have to look at her so closely?

Ginny glances down at her cards and tosses in a handful of bronze. "Nine Knuts."

There's a protracted silence and all eyes are on Harry. He waits, running a long finger across the small pile of Knuts in front of him. His eyes meet mine across the table.

For a moment, I'm completely stunned. I don't even know why. He's looked at me plenty of times before. Hell, we've been friends for almost seven years, so no looking would have been somewhat impossible.

But this time …

Whoa.

We stay like that for countless moments, eyes locked.

Suddenly I find myself falling. Quite literally.

Ron and I were sitting side by side on the couch. One second he'd been leaning against me, snoozing, and then the next second, he wasn't and I was so very close to becoming intimately acquainted with the carpet. If Harry had been the one beside me, he might have done the chivalrous thing and caught me before I hit the floor. Actually, come to think of it, he probably wouldn't have knocked me down in the first place. As it was, Ron, having just awoken, had no idea what was going on and so did nothing.

Ouch. That's gonna leave a mark.

Harry's laughing. Ron's looking around, completely at odds; the poor boy hasn't got a clue what's going on.

"Ooh," I can't help glaring at Ron.

"Sorry, Hermione," Ron mumbles sleepily. Then he leans back against a couch cushion and falls asleep. How does he _do_ that?

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry says, peering at me over his cards.

"Bloody brilliant."

"Come here. Don't want Ron to knock you over again, do we?"

I can't help it. For a moment I know that I must look confused and slightly anxious. And then the confusion goes flying out the window as Harry smiles at me again. Hey, if the boy wants me to sit next to him, who am I to argue? I am nothing if not agreeable.

He shifts slightly to the side and, to my incredible surprise, wraps an arm around my shoulder and hands me his cards. Actually, I think the bigger surprise is that I haven't yet fallen off the damn chair. It's only the fact that I'm completely frozen in place that makes that a particularly difficult action to undertake.

Ginny gives me a sly look over her cards.

I feel my face flush as I look down at Harry's cards.

"What do you think?" he whispers softly, his mouth very close to my ear. "Should I risk it?"

He's got a pair of sevens and three aces. I turn my face, intent on giving my acquiescence, and suddenly we're nose to nose. "I think you should go for it. What have you got to lose?"

Admittedly, my voice does come out rather shakily, but it's not as bad as it could be, so I congratulated myself on that as I turned back to Ginny.

"What indeed," he murmurs, so quietly that I almost didn't catch it.

Almost.

I wonder what he means? Are we still talking about the cards? It's ridiculously confusing, dealing with emotions. It's the one thing that I honestly believe logic cannot resolve. In fact, logical thinking usually makes it worse or alternatively, sends you off in the direction completely opposite that which you want to be going in.

" – me, Hermione?"

"Huh?"

Alright, so it's not the most eloquent answer I could have given, but still. What is –

Oh, the game's finished. Ginny's sweeping an admirable collection of bronze off the table and into the pockets of her robes.

"Thank you very much, Harry," Ginny grins. "I'll be off then, shall I? Try not to stay up too late, you two."

She hurries up to the stairs to the girl's dormitory.

"So, what happened?"

Harry smiles ruefully. "Ginny won. A Royal Flush. I believe she made off with three Sickles and five Knuts."

"Lucky girl. I hear Honeydukes has some new sweets out."

Harry laughs. "Ah yes, Honeydukes. That's definitely money well spent. I imagine you'd be more interested in something from Flourish and Blotts?"

He knows me too well. So I have a bit of an obsession with books. We all have our vices, I suppose. "Of course," I say with a slow smile. "An excessively hefty volume on the 1001 uses of Bubotuber Pus would suit me nicely."

"I'll try to remember that," Harry says, completely straight faced. There's a twinkle in his eyes. "Christmas is coming up in a couple of months, isn't it?"

"Don't you dare!"

But I know he wouldn't. Although he does have the unfortunate (or rather fortunate depending on the circumstances) tendency toward male obliviousness, he does have the occasional brilliant insight in the gift phenomena. Last year for my birthday, he'd given me the newest edition of _Hogwarts, A History [Unabridged and Uncut]_. It was leather bound and the pages were of the most delicate parchment ever to grace the book market. I was quite touched.

" – alright, Hermione?"

A hand waves across my face and Harry's looking at me rather concerned. I should probably stop this incessant daydreaming. I'm sure people are beginning to think that I've completely lost the plot.

"Sorry, Harry. I'm not really here at the moment."

"I know what you mean," Harry runs a hand across his face. "Sometimes I wish I really weren't here, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," I reply softly. He doesn't talk about … well, anything, really. I know he keeps a fair deal of it inside, just bottling it all up until it all becomes too much and he just explodes in a fit of yelling and whatnot. (And one time last year, exploding crockery.) I do wish he'd talk about it a bit more, but I can understand why he doesn't. It's hard to talk to someone else about something that you don't truly understand yourself.

Oh dear, now _he's_ fallen into a daydream (well, technically a night dream since it _is_ almost one o'clock in the morning, but that doesn't make much sense, does it?).

I am a bad influence, aren't I?

"Harry? Are you alright?"

He looks at me with those dazzling green eyes. I could drown in those eyes. As sappy as it sounds, they're deep, liquid pools of brilliant green. And they change depending on his mood. When he's happy, they're bright with almost invisible flecks of blue in them. When he's angry, they darken to a dark green flecked with icy green sparks. I've spent so much time looking at those eyes, I could probably write a book.

Damn thing would probably be a bestseller, too.

"Hermione?"

This time I'm actually paying attention.

"Harry?"

"Lets go for a walk."

"It's twelve fifty seven, Harry."

"I know. Lets go."

Who am I to argue with _that_?

tbc …


	3. Part III

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and associated characters and events do not belong to me. They belong to the marvellously talented JK Rowling (published under Bloomsbury Press). They are being used solely for entertainment purposes and no money is being made from this work (trust me on this one). No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note: This is officially my first completed Harry Potter story :) Am ridiculously happy. Oh, while the other previous chapters weren't overly suffused with romance and fluff, this chapter is as fluffy as a baby bunny, so be warned.

**Wandless**** Magic**

Chapter Three

There's one thing that everyone should probably know about Hogwarts. It's excessively cold. Even in the middle of summer a chill breeze whips around near the lake, particularly at night. Apparently tonight is the exception to the rule.

How inconvenient. The one night that I'm traipsing about the grounds – in the moonlight no less – with one Harry Potter, and the weather decides to be pleasant. There's no chilly breeze to send me snuggling against him, no howling wind to scare me into his arms. Nothing but a warm breeze and the brilliant moonlight shining off the still waters of the lake.

I have got to be the unluckiest girl on the face of the planet.

The only consolation would be the fact that we were huddled beneath Harry's invisibility cloak on the way through the castle. We snuck out onto the grounds through the secret passage that Harry and Ron had discovered while running away from Filch one night. From what I understand, it's quite like the Room of Requirement – it only appears when you really want it. That may be why the Marauders never found it. They had all the other ones to use.

Anyway, here by the water there's simply no reason to be any closer to him than I already am.

Perhaps I should try that weather altering charm I read about last week …

Yes, I'm ready to shamelessly admit it. I want the chance to be leaping into his arms. After tonight, I want to snog the dear boy absolutely senseless. Unfortunately, I am not being presented with the chance to do so. And that's incredibly annoying.

However, I haven't got a clue as to why tonight, of all nights. Perhaps it's the sheer romance of the situation. Perhaps it's because his hair is still slightly damn from his shower earlier that night. Or perhaps it's because he's wearing _that _jumper.

It doesn't really matter, I suppose.

"It's a beautiful night," I finally venture. I can't help but speak quietly.

Harry's sitting next to me, silently leaning against the large tree trunk, arms clasped around his knees and staring out at the lake. He's in one of his pensive moods. I've noticed that he gets that way something. When he's puzzled or confused over something he stops and gets all contemplative.

He looks rather adorable actually.

Harry looks at me and smiles. "Yes, it is."

I resist the urge to melt into a puddle of miscellaneous goo at his feet.

"My mum and dad used to sit here," he says suddenly, still staring out at the water. His gaze flickers down to the soft grass and then back up to the stillness of the lake. "right under this tree."

"They were very happy, weren't they?"

Harry nods, a tiny smile hovering around the edges of his mouth. "They were in love."

Last Christmas, Professor Lupin had presented Harry with a leather bound album absolutely full of photos from his time at Hogwarts with Harry's parents. It had originally been intended as a joint gift from himself and Sirius.

After receiving it, Harry had spent almost an entire week carrying it around and looking through it every chance he got. I can't remember him being any happier than he was at that time. I know he keeps it in the top drawer of his bedside table. It's probably the single best present he's ever gotten in his life.

Professor Lupin and Sirius had chosen the photos well. There were countless images of Harry's parents, smiling and laughing, arms wrapped around each other, staring dreamily into each other's eyes. There were also several of them all together.

Admittedly, the Marauders were rather attractive during their adolescent years. Dark haired Sirius with a mischievous smile at the ready, a quietly cheerful Professor Lupin with a twinkle in his brown eyes, James Potter, who looked so very much like Harry. They had the same smile, the same messy dark hair … And then there was his mum, Lily Evans, with her tumbling curls of auburn hair and green eyes.

I couldn't help but notice that pictures of Wormtail were conspicuously absent.

There was one picture, right near the back. His parents are sitting under this very same tree, smiling at the camera. His dad has his arms around Harry's mum and her head is leaning against his shoulder. Professor Lupin told us that photo was taken in the last few days before the end of Seventh Year.

They look blissfully happy.

This picture Harry had taken out. He carried it around with him, usually tucked into the pocket of his robes.

This isn't the first time I've noticed just how much I know about Harry's personal habits. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was stalking the poor boy. As it is, it's a good thing I'm one of his best friends – now that gives me every right to know every little detail about his life.

Well, perhaps it doesn't quite cover the fact that I know what soap he uses, and the shampoo, and the aftershave he's started to use these days (Mirkwood Madness for Men), and the …

Christ, I've got to get myself a life!

I must have a particularly strange look on my face because Harry's looking at me, rather concerned.

"Hermione, are you alright?"

Rearranging my face into an expression more befitting a human being, I nod. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just a little tired, I suppose. It's been a fairly hectic couple of days." Well, that's certainly true, what with me going through the emotional wringer and all.

That and the fact that I'm slowly going insane over this entire debacle. Still, it's Harry's fault for being so … Harry-like and practically perfect. Damn him.

"Do you want to go back?"

Call me crazy, but he sounds oddly disappointed.

"Erm, no?" I say hesitatingly, butterflies taking up sudden residence in the recesses of my stomach.

"Good," he says quietly.

He looks at me, very intently, for a very long moment. A shiver makes its way down my spine. It's a very pleasant shiver, mind you, and I can't help but bite my lip.

Suddenly he's sliding closer.

"Cold?" he asks and, without waiting for an answer, his arm comes up around my shoulders.

"Um …" I freeze in place – now _that's_ getting to be a rather unfortunate habit – but he coaxes me toward him with a whisper and a soft smile playing about his mouth. His arm is warm around me and his hand is moving slightly against my upper arm.

I shiver again, unwittingly, and Harry looks down at me. Before I know it, the Invisibility Cloak is around us and I'm snuggled beneath is, my head resting against Harry's shoulder, my hand, for lack of anywhere else to be, is pressed against his stomach. His jumper (a dark blue one he got from Mrs Weasley on his last Christmas) is soft beneath my fingertips.

He rests his chin atop my head and, although it could be just my imagination, I feel his arms tighten around me. His breath is warm, ruffling gently through my hair. My insides turn to mush and I can feel my breathing quicken slightly.

We look out at the moonlit lake; both of us are silent and very, very still. Well, our hands are moving, but at this point we don't seem to have any control over them – well, I know I certainly don't.

My hand is moving against the fabric of his jumper, my fingertips skimming across the slightly rough texture of the woollen weave. One of his hands is pressed against my upper arm, running slowly and deliberately up and down my arm. His other hand finds mine beneath the Cloak.

Oh dear. I don't think I can take much more of this.

His fingers thread through mine.

Well, needless to say, if I was cold before, I certainly am not now.

"Hermione …"

His voice is low. It's husky. I feel it sweeping over me like a cool breeze. My skin is suddenly covered in goose bumps and I'm assaulted by another tingling shiver racing down my spine. I don't want to face him. I don't even know if I can.

Suddenly, I'm terrified. Terrified of everything I'm feeling. Terrified of what could happen. Terrified of what I know is going to happen.

My breath catches in my throat as his hand leaves mine. His fingers brush against my chin as he tilts my head up to meet his gaze. His fingertips skim lightly across my slightly parted lips. They're so very gentle …

His eyes are dark in the moonlight and I'm trembling so much.

Our eyes finally meet, fully, for the first time and my heart speeds up. It feels like it's going to leap right out of my chest.

His eyes, still dark, are searching mine for … something. I don't quite know what, but it doesn't matter.

We've been friends so long that we can almost read each other's thoughts. Although, on his part, that's probably due to the excessive amounts of Occlumency training he's had. I get the distinct impression that he picks up a lot more than he tells either me or Ron. Normally I'd be worried, but right now, I don't care. He can read my mind, he can look into the deepest recesses of my heart; he has every right to it.

It's all his – and probably always will be. There's no point in even trying to deny it.

"Harry," I breathe. My very nerve endings are tingling with anticipation. And I'm not afraid anymore. "Please …"

And then he smiles, that cute quirky grin, and his eyes sparkle in the moonlight, as his dark head lowers to mine.

My eyes slip shut as his face moves closer to mine. My heart is about ready to leap frog out and across the grounds.

And then it happens.

His lips meet mine in the briefest, the softest, the tenderest of caresses.

Time stands still all around us. I never imagined it was possible, but it does. And there's nothing in the world except me and Harry and the feel of his mouth against mine.

It's love.

It's perfect.

It's magic.

THE END


End file.
